So today my kid got out of school early for early dismissal, because kids nowadays get out of school early all the damn time. I don’t remember this half-day nonsense. By God, in my day we went to school full days and we liked it. And when we had a day off it was an entire day and no mistake.
Anyway, hilarity ensues:
Delia: Mama, can I paint the end tables? (small unfinished wooden tables we got at Ikea years ago and are covered in marking pen etc because children are filthy little savages)
Me: (gathering supplies and opening paint can) Okay, but put down plastic and change your clothes.
Delia: Okay! (looks totally responsible and stuff)
Minutes later Delia is seen moving table dangerously close to house to get it out of the rain, which is at least purposeful, but then as if mesmerized places palms flat down on wet paint and smears it around for no reason.
Me: DEAR GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING
Delia: (looks guilty)
Me: Okay, go wash your hands. Why did you do that?
Delia: (washes hands; no answer)
Me: (places half-painted wooden end table with huge smeary palm prints on freshly-painted top in garage) Okay, you can finish painting in there. But try not to get paint on everything and please don’t do that again or you will get paint everywhere and I will not let you paint EVER AGAIN.
Delia: (subdued) Okay.
She’s so tall and easy-going and good-natured that I forget that she is still an 11-year-old kid, and to an 11-year-old kid, slippery fresh paint is SO AWESOME to smear your hands around in. Especially to this one who has loved mud puddles, pumpkin guts, creepy crawly stuff, and bugs pretty much since birth.